


greetings from california

by fljghtlessbirds



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Ghosts, Haunted House, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 10:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17526812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fljghtlessbirds/pseuds/fljghtlessbirds
Summary: Shane Madej moves into a surprisingly cheap house in Los Angeles that has a grisly history of mysterious deaths; it's a good thing he doesn't believe in ghosts.





	greetings from california

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from the song by the neighbourhood  
> said i would never write anything about these two and yet here i am  
> this fic is inspired by pretty much every horror movie ever, along with tv shows (most notably american horror story and the haunting of hill house) so there's a lot of those elements sprinkled in here.  
> idk if i'm going to continue writing this, so feedback/kudos are very appreciated! enjoy :)

Shane Madej leans against the hood of the moving truck, drumming an annoying beat with his fingers as he waited for the realtor to show up. He had spent over a day driving west across the country, and to say that his patience was wearing thin was an understatement. His back hurt, there was a kink in his neck he couldn’t get rid of, and his _legs_ ; he thought for sure he would have to have them amputated if they stayed cramped in that truck any longer. Shane was very annoyed to begin with, and now this late realtor was truly the icing on top of this shit flavored cake.

He sighs pensively, and decides to draw his attention to the house he was parked in front of. It was a brick house, with one of those window seats he always wanted in his house when he was a kid. It stands two stories tall, with an attic if he could remember correctly. It was located on the corner of two streets and had a wide wrap around porch. There was also a very large, menacing hedge that acted as a fence, and there was a black gate to close the gap in between the shrubbery.  

Shane had researched a few houses and apartments before he officially made the move. He liked to think he was a pretty smart guy; he knew that real estate in L.A. wasn’t cheap and he didn’t want to make an irrational decision that would screw up his life and, more importantly, his bank account. When he miraculously found one of the cheapest pieces of land in the world, it didn’t immediately register in his brain that there was something wrong. Shane just saw that there was definitely way more space than he needed, with five bedrooms and two bathrooms, and it was _cheap_ , and figured it wasn’t that big of a deal.

After, his curiosity got the better of him and he looked up other houses in Los Angeles. He made sure they all had the same amount of square feet down to the inch, and/or the same amount of rooms. His findings all came to the same conclusion: they were all ridiculously expensive. Shane knew it was too good to be true; something was wrong about this house to be more than half of the usual price. But after a solid two minutes of debating, he shrugged it off and decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. He contacted the agent, made an appointment, got a job lined up, packed his shit up and left Chicago within a month.

So now he was here, nearly at his wits end in sunny California. The setting sun was now behind the house, casting much needed shade from the heat. It was almost summer, and Shane knew the hot temperatures were something his Midwestern ass would have to get used to. “Hello!” says a voice from behind him. He turns his head to find out where it was coming from, and sees a middle aged woman clad in a dark grey pantsuit walking up behind him. He was so out of it, he didn’t even hear her car pull up. “You must be Shane Madej. I’m Holly Horsely. So sorry that I’m late, my last house showing ran longer than I had planned.” She extends her hand and he shakes it firmly.

“That’s okay,” he lies. He gestures with his hand towards the house. “Lead the way, Ms. Horsely.”

She nods and flashes an overly fake smile. They cross the street and she opens the metal, black gate, which creaks loudly. It has long, sharp spires that immediately reminds Shane of graveyards in horror films. The front yard isn’t very big, he notices, and they climb the steps of the porch. The floorboards of the stairs and the porch are peeling white paint, and they groan beneath him as he walks. She smiles at him, again, as if to comfort him when it does the exact opposite. She opens the front door slowly for dramatic effect. It’s also wooden, and has one of those old fashioned knockers that might frighten Shane if he didn’t find it so goddamn fascinating. Holly steps in through the threshold, ushering him in. The front door leads into a large, open dining room with archways leading into other areas of the house, and a very gaudy chandelier is hanging above their heads. Despite the ceilings being relatively high, the top of his head almost touches the crystals. The woman clears her throat as Shane takes it all in. “This house was built in 1898 during the Victorian era by James McClintock. He was the son of a winemaker and moved to Los Angeles from Napa to settle down with his wife. He built the entire house just for her, down to her last exact detail. Pretty romantic, if you ask me,” she says as she takes a left, and leads him through one of the arches. She chuckles at her own comment before continuing. “As you can see, everything has been kept in pristine condition. The last owners, who moved in in 1994, barely had to renovate anything. The wooden floors are from real California Redwoods, and most of the windows are the original ones from 1898. Very impressive.”

They’re now in a room which is probably a living room; it’s hard to tell without any furniture. The window seat is in here, though, and Shane beams at the sight of it. He walks right over to it and sits down, grinning goofily. He can already imagine himself drinking a hot cup of tea, book in his hand, possibly a cat curled up next to him. Shane sighs and clears his throat, standing. “Right. I have to ask, for a house built over a hundred years ago and in ‘ _pristine_ _condition,_ ’” he air quotes for effect, “why is it so cheap?”

She smiles thinly, one that is finally genuine. “You’re new in town, right Mr. Madej?”

 _Jesus,_ Shane thinks, _It’s not like Los Angeles is one of the biggest cities in America and has thousands of new people moving here every fucking day._ He bites back a scoff, but nods anyway. “I moved here from Chicago.”

“Did you do any research at all about the history of this house?” She presses.

“No. To be honest, I saw the price and it pretty much sealed the deal for me. But I do have my sneaking suspicions about why it’s marked so low on the market.” He answers.

“Well, I usually wait until the end of the tour to mention this, but now is as good of a time as any. The previous owners, the ones I mentioned before,” she pauses. “In 1996, they all died here. There was four of them. And two years ago, there was an accident that resulted in an unfortunate death.”

There it is. The thought crossed his mind when he first saw the house; he had figured someone had died horrifically and the stuck up people of Los Angeles were too creeped out or superstitious to live in here. But _five_ people? Shane bites his lower lip. Before he can help himself, he asks, “How did they die?”

He sees Holly wince. She’s clearly used to this question, but it must be the deal breaker for all her clients. “The men in ‘96 were murdered. It’s still unknown by who, whether it was one of them or an outside party. As for the accident, a group of investigators were allowed into the house and one of them fell down the stairs, breaking his neck immediately. Very, very sad; he was only 25.”

An involuntary shiver runs up Shane’s spine at the information. “What were they investigating?”

“They were paranormal investigators, filming for a show they did.”

Shane almost laughs, but stops himself for respect for the man that literally died searching for proof of the supernatural. “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t believe in ghosts.” he says, simply.

Holly hums, but whether it was in approval or not, he couldn’t tell. “Should we continue the tour, then?” He nods.

The rest of the first floor consists of the kitchen, the master bedroom and a bathroom. The bathroom is actually in the kitchen, which Shane thinks is the weirdest yet funniest thing ever. It’s tiny enough to be a broom closet, and only has a toilet and a sink. Upstairs, there’s the four bedrooms and the other bathroom, which is way bigger and has another toilet, a clawfoot tub and a shower. Before she’s even done showing the rest of the house, Shane knows that he’s doing to buy it.

An hour later, he’s signed at least twenty papers and he and Holly are sitting at the kitchen’s breakfast bar. There’s a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the top, along with a pitcher of water and two glasses. Shane grabs one, humming contently. He’s starving. “Can I ask you a personal question?” Holly says, capping her pen. He bites into his cookie, sending crumbs everywhere. He nods slowly. “I have been trying to sell this house for almost fifteen years, and the real estate agency has been trying for twenty-two. But you...” she sighs. “What happened here doesn’t seem to faze you. At all. Why is that?”

He shrugs and swallows. “I’m a logic and science type of person. Ghosts are not real, and people die every day. Sometimes in tragic ways, yes, and sometimes in the safety of their own home. But it’s still an everyday occurrence. Someone probably just croaked right now.”

She pointedly doesn’t laugh at his joke. “I suppose you’re right,” she replies. “Well, I should also mention that since you’re now the owner of this house, you’re probably going to get a knock on your door. Ever since his partner died, one of those ‘ghost hunters’ has come here trying to investigate again. We simply couldn’t allow it; it was too risky and it wasn’t good for business. He was a persistent fellow, I'll give him that. He came to our office nearly every day begging to search again. He even came to open houses, one time he brought a device that was really loud and it upset the guests. We threatened to take legal action, but luckily he backed off. Can’t say that he’ll do the same for you.”

“That wasn’t in the fine print.” Shane jokes, this time earning a chuckle from the woman.

“Technically, I’m not required to tell you that, but I figured it was the right thing to do.”

Shane pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth and frowns at her. “Thanks, I guess?”

She stands up from the barstool. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Madej. Enjoy your new forever home.” Holly extends her hand, and he shakes it, still frowning. Holly smiles at him, for real, and leaves. Her high heels clack down the hallway, and the image of a horse galloping pops into Shane’s head. His hand flies up to his mouth quickly, but he can’t help the giggle that bubbles up in his chest. He waits for the door to open and shut before he erupts into laughter.

* * *

Shane calls a moving company and by seven o’clock they’ve emptied the trailer of the moving truck. He didn’t have a lot of furniture; he only had an apartment and it didn’t require that much. The movers hauled in his couch, his armchair, his bed, his bed frame and his headboard, and all the other heavy shit he hated packing into the truck back in Chicago. Shane carried in the easy stuff, like his dufflebags filled with clothes, boxes of glasses and plates, his DVD collection, etcetera. He decided he would properly unpack everything within the week. He still had to get used to the time difference, which was already proving to be difficult since he wanted to go to bed now. He sighs, flopping down onto his couch. Shane looks around the room, seeing it in such disarray. His poor TV was on his entertainment center, not even hooked up. His Playstation was on the floor beneath it, also not plugged in, and next to his was his world renowned DVDs. He has little to no energy left, but decides to work here first.

He’s done within a half an hour, and that’s when he officially realizes for the first time that this house is too fucking big. There’s an archway that separates half of the living room; one half leads into the dining room with another goddamn archway and the other has the staircase. He decided to put his couch and the TV in the stair section, along with the armchair and coffee table. In his apartment, this was fine because it took up the entire living room. Here, that was evidently not the case. “Oh God,” Shane mumbles out loud, once he turns around and sees the empty space behind him. He sighs again, running a hand roughly over his face in pure exhaustion. He then moves to his new bedroom. Shane takes the downstairs one, because it’s the biggest one. And maybe because the upstairs scares him more than he would care to admit. When he enters his new room, he takes one look at his bed frame and shakes his head. He’ll put it together tomorrow. His long legs carry him, brain officially on autopilot, and he throws his mattress in the middle of the floor. It has one of those clear tarps to avoid getting it dirty, so he bends over and removes it, tossing it behind his shoulders. Shane then pads over to where there’s a bunch of bags and suitcases near his closet; the biggest one has his comforter and his sheets. He whines at the thought of putting on a sheet in this state of mind and only takes his blankets, strips himself of his clothes, and hauls his body into bed.

He inhales the scent of familiarity that is his blanket: it smells like home, back in Illinois. Shane associates his bed with a lot of good memories, such as relaxing with a nice book or having a movie marathon, and most importantly, sleeping. It calms him instantly, and acts as a lullaby. The exhaustion envelopes him, and he’s asleep within five minutes.

Unbeknownst to him, a shadow has followed Shane all day, and if he had been looking for it, he probably would have noticed. But it was there nonetheless, a thin string tethered between the two of them, three steps behind him at all times. And it was there now, standing over his bed, just watching. There was another shadow in the far corner of the room, near the door (which Shane left wide open), also watching.

“You know, it’s rude to stare.” says Shane’s shadow. It has a woman’s voice.

“That’s rich, coming from you.” The other shadow counters; also a woman.

She scoffs. “He’s... different from the others. I’m drawn to him.”

“He’s ignorant.” The other shadow walks up to join Shane’s, the moonlight shining on both of them.

“Maybe. But so were we.”

“And look where that got us, Sara.”

“He’s different.” Sara says again, more sure of herself.

Shane stirs in his sleep, rolling over onto his side. “How long do you think he’ll last?”

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “Hopefully longer than us.”

And then they’re gone.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: the house is based off of my grandma's house, which creeped the shit out of me when i was a kid. it was totally haunted.


End file.
